My Maniac and I
by The Spectrum Sings
Summary: With months of Lucifer prattling on, screwing with everything in his brain, it's sometimes impossible to not reply. What harm can hello do? Sam/Lucifer.
1. Chapter 1

The screams all sound the same. Sam shudders, and downs another cup of coffee. Black, three sugars. Across the table, Lucifer sighs. Sam pretends he is shivering because of the cold, not because the devil's breath just ghosted across his arms, a silent and invisible invasion. It tickles in a good way.

"If I'm about when you're awake too, why not just go to sleep?" Lucifer sounds genuinely curious as Sam restarts the kettle, pouring more sugar and coffee into the waiting cup. The dim screaming deepens in density with Lucifer's words. Lucifer has been about all day: singing along to the radio in the back of the Impala, throwing stones at Dean, dripping blood from the eyes of random passers-by, whispering his ownership into Sam's ear, like he was a possession, not a person. Maybe that's all he is to Lucifer. Actually, no maybe about it.

Dean makes an unhappy noise in his sleep as the kettle rattles and Sam's stomach twists in guilt. Because he can't sleep, he _can't. _At least when awake he has some control, when awake Dean is right there, Castiel is just a prayer away. When asleep, Lucifer can twist the world with a lot more control. Something Sam has none of if he lets his eyes sway shut for long. In the world of the waking, at least Sam can dig his dirty nails into his scarred palm and hope and _hope_ Lucifer will melt away with the pain. Except this time he doesn't.

"Sammy," Lucifer coos and Sam bites his tongue to stop himself shooting back "don't call me Sammy."

"You can't escape me." He states like it's no big deal. And Sam isn't even sure how much it is anymore.

The quiet "I know" that he breathes out is ignored, but Sam knows he heard. The excitement in the air swirls a little, like eerie laughter mixed with the screams for a moment.

Lucifer sighs dramatically, like Sam is hurting his feelings, and stares contently as Sam retakes his seat, gripping the cup of steaming liquid until his knuckles go achingly white. When Sam blinks heavily, Lucifer mouths smugly "I won," and Sam turns to face the window to avoid giving any idea that blinking contests are fun or good or _allowed._ Because this is not okay. Although Sam has to admit, this is the most docile the devil has been in weeks.

"Sammy," he sings again, almost as if he's trying to stay in time with the fading echoing screams. When he starts singing Taylor Swift songs, Sam snaps and glares directly at the man lazily sprawled on the chair in front of him.

"Ooh, eye contact." Lucifer praises with a grin. Sam wonders how he can look so _human_, so innocent and alive and… Sam wonders if Lucifer has a soul. The past few months Lucifer has been less violent, less threatening, more hey Sammy, how are you Sammy, more sarcastic and smug.

The grey in the room is too much to bear. Sam stands, and lingers as if waiting for Lucifer to join him, because maybe trying to run out of Lucifer isn't a good idea. You don't piss off the devil if it can be helped, especially when he controls your dreams and twists up your reality. Sam blinks and Lucifer is instead lying almost invitingly in the bed next to Dean's, counting sheep and flicking feathers at Dean. Sam wonders if they are from the pillow or maybe from his wings. Dean turns in his sleep, unaware of anything unusual. A single feather floats just above Dean's nose and Sam correctly suspects he just put it there to annoy the sleeping Dean. As his brother sneezes, Sam grabs at Lucifer's arm. It's… incredibly strange. Because Sam's fingers don't slip right through and he's faced with a horrible, terrified stutter of a heart suggesting maybe he was never a hallucination. Maybe it's all been real. Maybe Lucifer can make it so only he can see him.

Maybe. Regardless, Sam pulls hard, and the devil lets himself be dragged from the room, shaking with laughter at Sam's sudden acknowledgment and contact, at Sam's panic, at Sam's clammy palms and sharp nails digging into his soft flesh, soft and real and terrifying. Lucifer makes no effort to move away from Sam, instead lingering closer and looking smug. Sam makes some sort of noise and Lucifer turns to him, only to be pushed away roughly, because crazy hallucinations are one thing, but feeling like the devil is a bit too close to comfort in this sense just… No.

The night sky is black. Real black, like coal and how Sam imagines real Lucifer's eyes and the clouds before a storm. It's dark and empty and cool. But it's also so much more alive and it's definitely not grey. Out here, there are no screams, only Lucifer's quiet watching, the same kind of absent staring Castiel does daily.

"Come on, _Sam,_" Lucifer says, and Sam finds himself following him, because he can't escape, he's known that for a long time. But Sam isn't going to be someone's bitch and he abruptly stops, considering his options, because if this is really Lucifer… Sam frowns at that thought, watching the devil pause with him.

"Hello." Sam decides to embrace the crazy, because, well, Lucifer isn't really _here. _Right?

"Sam?" Lucifer asks, amused and curious.

"It's polite to say hello back," Sam says defensively.

"Of course. Hello, Sammy," Lucifer grins, skipping closer. "You always let me in eventually." He reminds Sam of a little kid on Christmas day and he can't help but snort at the image, earning him a scowl. Lucifer's fingers don't hesitate to stray up into Sam's hair, and he flinches back at the contact, gnawing on his lip when his sweaty palms could be maybe a little less because of fear and a little more because of something else.

"Hello, Sam," Lucifer says quietly. Sam's not entirely sure what to say for a long minute, because really, he doesn't understand.

"I'm not saying yes." He whispers suddenly and Lucifer shrugs, like, hey, no big deal. This is obviously not the case.

"I don't think I want you to anymore anyway," he says smoothly, "this is much more fun."

"What?" Sam says bluntly. And then it occurs to him how quickly he's relaxed into accepting the fact that Lucifer's here, that he's always been here, that he isn't leaving, that even with heart wrenching screaming and things that go bump in the night, and how he's just behaving like he has almost every night for months. Even though this isn't a dream. He's really here. Because he could never touch Lucifer before… Never drag him from rooms. Lucifer could touch him but Sam's punches had always swum right through him. The devil is standing in front of Sam and well… Sam is completely vulnerable.

"How did you find us?" Sam asks, suddenly glancing back to the room where Dean is sleeping because if Lucifer is real… that means Dean will see him, too.

"I never lost you." This isn't reassuring. "You didn't notice, did you? I haven't been a hallucination for months."

"You… you… I'm never saying yes." Sam stutters, angry, maybe a bit broken, because what's real now?

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I don't want you to anymore?" Lucifer's face briefly twitches into something deeply unhappy, "I'm still an angel, and I'm still…"

"I don't believe you." Sam shoots back quickly.

"Just because something is irrational doesn't make it wrong," Lucifer says flatly. Before Sam can react, Lucifer's fingers ghost his forehead and they vanish. Sam wonders briefly if an explanation could be he finally fell asleep. The new space they occupy is another motel room, but not the one Dean is snoring in, where Castiel watches over. It's white and its furniture is nailed down. Sam shifts and sits in a plastic chair that looks over a parking lot. Lucifer is sprawled out in the chair on the other side of him, looking content and amused which is never good.

"Stop it." Sam demands in a harsh breath. "Take me back. Leave me alone."

He shakes his head slowly, "I can't, Sammy." The devil sighs in irritation.

"Whatever. If I walk out what happens?"

"You'll end up right back here," Lucifer shrugs, his nails tapping the table lightly, steadily, calmly.

"No escape," Sam almost smiles and he isn't sure why. Nothing is funny, nothing is okay about this.

"None," He agrees. When Lucifer smiles he looks far too innocent, it's just not right, and Sam cannot place the curl in his gut.

Sam gets to his feet, trying to shake it off, while he searches the cupboards and mourns the loss of his coffee. Every single one is empty. When he turns back to the table, a steaming mug is waiting and Sam forgets words for a moment.

"Are you reading my mind?" He demands.

"A little." Lucifer admits, rolling his eyes at Sam's glare, something Sam dimly thinks he must have learnt of him somewhere along the line of hallucinations becoming the real thing. But coffee is coffee and Sam honestly doesn't even know if he's awake or not anyway so…

He slurps at the cup and pretends not to notice Lucifer's watching him like he's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

"How long are you going to keep me here?" Sam asks, "Until I say yes?"

"I don't expect you to do that, which is fine."

Sam ignores what must be obviously a lie and demands, impatiently, "so how long?"

Lucifer shrugs, like he hasn't thought that far, like he doesn't know, like it doesn't matter, because Sam is _here_ now, and it's okay.

"Do you want to play eye-spy?" Sam blurts, and then cringes, and Lucifer's giving him a completely blank look. "Say a letter that an object you can see begins with and I see if I can guess."

"I spy something that begins with C," Sam prompts.

"Chair." Lucifer says instantly.

"Mind reading is cheating."

"You never made rules!"

Sam sighs as Lucifer lets out a huff of laughter. He watches the space where their breath mixes.

"I spy something that's… mine." Lucifer's eyes trail Sam.

"No." This is why you don't try and make friends with the devil, Sam thinks. Wait, friends?

"I don't want to use you as a vessel Sam, not any more. I swear it."

"Then what the hell was that?" He protests, uncomfortable, wondering if Dean is awake yet.

"How about mine in a different sense?" Lucifer licks his lips.

Sam says nothing. He gets up. He sits down. He shivers, long and hard and not cold. In the end, he sits as far away as possible, on the solid bed. "Sam?" Lucifer asks. Sam shakes his head because… Did the devil just imply… Nope.

Sam falls asleep without meaning to. Lucifer is watching him from across the bed; legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Even in dreams he cannot escape, although he doesn't know what he's escaping anymore.

"Hello," says Sam, because what else can he do.

"You can't avoid me." Lucifer says simply. This has been true for months, but never quite this true. "I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable." He adds, almost thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry for… over reacting?" Sam says because he feels awkward.

Lucifer raises his eyebrow, but then he makes a quiet noise, something low and strange. "I may have surprised both of us with that one, actually. It's hard to explain. Your human emotions have never made much sense to us."

Sometimes Sam forgets Lucifer isn't a demon, forgets he is an angel, a soldier of God. Sometimes he forgets maybe this is as close to human as it gets for him. And Sam… Sam just wants everything to be okay, and normal, and safe. And what is this?

"I don't trust you." Sam says, and regrets it when he sees a flash of hurt in Lucifer's eyes. He tells himself it's not real, but the guilt doesn't go away. "I can't… I'm waiting for my nightmares to come true, for you to take my body and burn me out."

"Sam, I wouldn't."

Sam wonders if the devil has ever thought about kissing him which leads him to think about kissing the devil. He wonders if he would taste like darkness. Maybe like smoke. Or maybe like honey, sweet, enticing, deadly, like poison. He wonders if that's all Lucifer has thought about. Lucifer exhales quickly, glancing at Sam like he's just screamed the thought aloud.

"That is not on, okay? Get out of my head." Sam demands, "I can't freak out if you're listening."

Lucifer pulls a face, and moves back to the chairs that look out the lonely window. "Wake up, Sam." He says softly.

Sam shoots upwards, spinning round to look for Dean. And that's right where he is. In the cramped single bed next to a snoring Dean. Sunlight seeps through the room and Lucifer sits on the kitchen counters, two cups of coffee already made.

"Are you real?" Sam says in a hush.

"Do you want me to be?" Lucifer asks curiously and Sam doesn't know. _Yes no yes no yes yes yes but I don't know why and no I trust you and—_

"Think quietly, please."

Sam goes red and glares for a moment. "Can Dean see you?" He murmurs.

"Yes." Lucifer hesitates. If he can just wake Dean up and… then what?

So Sam stands, awkwardly, trying not to think, and walks steadily towards the devil. Lucifer lets out a breath and it coasts on to Sam's neck. He doesn't step back and so Lucifer steps forward. Sam can hear the shift of fabric, the way Lucifer's shirt rustles as he raises his arms. When his fingers scoop through Sam's hair, he doesn't flinch, he waits. His mind is screaming and Lucifer gives a sad smile, hesitating before beginning to move back. Sam doesn't hesitate, grabbing Lucifer's arms and holding them both still. Lucifer doesn't breathe and Sam wonders if he even has to. Lucifer looks at Sam like he's breakable, Sam swallows and tenses, because he can't, he doesn't … this isn't what he wants, except, maybe it is.

And that's when Sam kisses the devil. Maybe Sam was right, maybe he tastes like darkness and honey and smoke, and maybe he tastes like light and warmth and coffee, too. It's slow and deep and alive.

And that's when Dean yawns, sits up lazily, blinks, once, twice, three times and blurts out "what the fuck."


	2. Chapter 2

Lucifer is gone before Dean can utter another word and Sam cannot breathe. His mouth feels warm and wet and like he's suddenly missing something that he can't live without. This, Sam argues, is not true. He's spent months wanting Lucifer to piss off, he can't change his mind just because… because maybe there was something there. God, his mouth feels numb.

"Sam, what the hell did I just see?" Dean demands, "How did he get here?" Dean's already packing, tense, and scared, and stuck between grabbing Sam and running or clinging to his brother in some sense of moral support, because, he'll say it again, what the fuck.

"Sam!" Dean snaps, concerned and maybe angry, "That was no hallucination, I saw it too, we have to go, man. I'm calling Cas." It's not maybe angry, it is angry, but he isn't sure what to be angry about, what happened, what he saw, because he knows, God he knows, something isn't right with Sam. But Sam… Sam would never say yes to the devil. It's Sam.

Castiel flickers into existence beside Dean before he can pull out his phone. Dean is so grateful he considers hugging him, but decides against it because Lucifer just kissed his baby brother.

But Sam isn't listening to Dean or Cas; he's listening to Lucifer's words rattling around in his head, Lucifer's projections. There's a slow, unhurried trail of fingers making their way across his back, tracing every nerve, every muscle and Sam doesn't know if this Lucifer is real or not but he knows either way Dean can't see him. Lucifer curls his fingers, dancing patterns across his skin and Sam notices that Castiel is frozen watching him. They stray to the back of his neck, pushing up under his hair. And Sam sighs, turning to face Lucifer, to face Dean and Castiel. There's familiarity in the touch, it feels like it belongs. There's possessive, indulgent warmth to it, an intimacy, something lingering and heated and scary.

"Are you seeing him right now?" Dean queries uneasily. "Cas, is he really here?" Every instinct of Dean's is telling him to grab Sammy and run, painting every anti-angel nonsense he can find to the roof of the car while still driving to anywhere. Dean is a bit lost right now, and really, he has a right to be, but Sam needs him and he just can't freak out too much right now.

"He's here." Sam whispers, and it gives a sharp twist in his gut, like a betrayal.

"I can't see him." Castiel huffs with nerves and anger, for he is no match for Lucifer and knows it, but he also knows he would more than willingly stand in front of the Winchesters to shield them. But you can't leap in front of something you can't see.

Lucifer tuts and cross his arms, and Sam leans forwards, surprised at the lack of contact. Suddenly Sam is stumbling backwards because oh, God, what's he doing, why is this happening… maybe Dean is just crazy, too. Can everyone just be crazy? That way this would totally be fine.

"He's there," as Sam points Lucifer vanishes and reappears a few spaces to the left, every swirl of Sam's arm comes up in a blank spot, and Sam feels dizzy almost immediately.

"Try again, Sammy," he breathes from behind him. Sam stumbles round in a tight circle, almost falling, except strong arms grab his shoulders, hauling him upwards. Sam struggles, all elbows and angles, but then Dean's soft swearing meets his ears and he relaxes, letting himself be pulled back. The three of them line up against the back wall, between Dean and Sam's small, rectangle motel beds, Sam's eyes flitting about. Dean nods at Castiel and Sam completely misses the movement.

"Sam," Lucifer says cautiously, but Castiel's hand wraps around his and they're gone. Sam thrashes instantly, uselessly but violently, against his impossible strength, because for a moment he thought it was Lucifer, for a moment Castiel's eyes didn't look quite right, for a moment he couldn't feel Dean's hand gripping his shirt sleeve.

"Calm down, Sam, come on," Dean pleads, and Sam goes still, because they're in the middle of nowhere, a town maybe, but it's one little street, it's all fields and… and Castiel's nose is dripping crimson, Dean's eyes are bright with determination, and the warm, unwelcomed and yet needed touch of Lucifer has gone. He isn't here, where ever here is.

"What now?" Sam says quietly.

"You tell us what is going on?" Dean suggests, well, it's more a demand than a suggestion. Sam knows that.

"He… he's been real for months. He said," Sam stutters over how to explain, "Lucifer said he's been really with me for months." And yep, feels like betrayal again, which is really pissing Sam off. Because he did not like that kiss at all. Fucking nope.

"Shit," Dean curses. "How?" Castiel hums, paces a bit. And Sam says nothing and he thinks and thinks and wonders why the voice in his head calls Lucifer the devil when he's always been an angel, fallen or not. An Archangel. Something powerful and scary and maybe even beautiful. How could he not just break them all, if that is what he wanted, what would stop a creature with this power?

This is a question none of them know the answer to.

So it's onwards, to another motel, another night, another sunset. This motel needs a good clean, but Dean is too tired to care, and it has a coffee shop right next door and so Sam isn't bothered either. It's smaller than the last, more claustrophobic, and dim, and Sam thinks the shadows look like the perfect place for Lucifer to lurk. But Castiel didn't bring the car during his let's get away from the devil disappearing act so they don't have much choice unit that little issue is sorted. After it became apparent no one knew what was going on, Dean wasted no time lamenting the loss of his baby. Dean is doing no lamenting now, just snoring, and Castiel has just finished the last of the angel, demon, bloody everything proofing, so now all there is to do is drink coffee and hope.

Sam isn't sure what he's hoping for through, and at 4am when he drops off to sleep on the kitchen table, Castiel makes a low worried sound and sits opposite him, ready to wake him if he even twitches.

Sam's dreams consist of chocolate buttons. Until Lucifer steals a handful, giggles and runs. Sam doesn't think twice before he's up and running and throwing chocolate buttons playfully and he's not scared because he can always say no. No is his and Lucifer can't take that and this is fun so why not? Why— Sam runs right into Lucifer. He jumps back hastily before remembering what Lucifer kiss tasted like.

"Hello, Sam," Lucifer says, chocolate round his face. Please explain why Lucifer looks adorable?

Sam's often wondered what he'd do if he heard that voice again. Every day, really, even though he hears it most nights. Maybe he's waiting for a different reaction, from himself, from Lucifer. He wonders what he'll feel this time. If he'd be afraid, stop breathing, run, and fight—fall again. Fall into what is now a strange question. Because not love. No way love. But after that kiss… he doesn't run. Instead he exhales like he's been waiting for exactly this, waiting years for this. Really, it's been twelve hours. He turns his head.

"Are you real? Is this in my head?" Sam murmurs.

"I'm real but I am in your head," Lucifer says simply. Or perhaps it's not that simple, because there's sadness, a quiet tension to his face, because really that isn't simple at all. When is it ever simple? The tension reminds Sam all too suddenly that he, you know, kissed the devil. No, he kissed an angel.

"I missed you," Sam blurts, "I think. I wondered… I don't trust you but I didn't like you being gone."

Lucifer makes a quiet noise, a sigh, a look, and his eyes fall shut.

"Lucifer," Sam presses, "why are you here?" He thinks maybe he should kiss him again. What's the harm? That's a silly question. Lucifer is looking at him like he just heard all of that and Sam blushes, just a little.

"I'm scared you'll forget about me."

Sam almost laughs because the man has been creating hurricanes in his head for months but Lucifer looks so serious, or is acting it, that Sam says nothing. And Sam feels ill and so tired, he's a bit broken and he doesn't understand because he knows Lucifer needs him but he thinks maybe needs has a whole new context. He thinks maybe needing his body has changed from being a vessel to something like dark fantasy romance. He thinks kissing him again should be a definite not a maybe.

Lucifer's still close enough to feel the warmth of him, of Sam, but he doesn't lean forward, doesn't press. That scares Sam, too. The lack of force. It seems darker, darker still, when Sam reaches forward, and folds Lucifer's wrist into his hand. He feels solid enough, when they touch in the darkness, not imagined or dreamed up at all. Lucifer's fingers wind into Sam's hair and Sam still holds that wrist. It feels angled, like he needs to eat more.

"Tell me where you are," Lucifer whispers. Sam freezes. Sam feels like he is being burnt, outside, inside, deep in his soul. Lucifer's eyes make him think of the millions of stars up in the sky. He looks out of time, out of place, fuzzy round the edges. Sam opens his mouth and for a moment he considers saying something cheesy, like "come and get me, take me to the stars," or "let's run away." But they're crazy thoughts. He would never say that, right? But he's scared and tired of running and lonely, even with Dean and Castiel, he's so lonely.

A relationship with Lucifer though? That has to be the most disturbing, fucked up thing ever. It's chaos, a mistake, but maybe a mistake that could save him. Shake things up. Sam knows he's crazy, but he doesn't care for a moment of two. It's twisted.

Sam thinks about it anyway.

And then Castiel wakes him up. Damn. The room is still dark but Sam can feel morning approaching. Castiel isn't saying anything, his expression careful, and Sam wonders what he heard to make him shake him awake so forcefully his head aches. Maybe he knows. Maybe they both do.

This isn't fucking okay.

"I will suffer for you and only for you. Anything to make you happy," Lucifer whispers into the darkness. "Hold on to what we are. You know the truth; we've been bound for a long time, Sammy." And Sam thinks dimly, angels don't lie. He shivers because only God knows what's real anymore. And only God knows where God even is, so that's a good start.

"Sam," Castiel warns, and Sam blinks a few times. Dean is sitting up, apprehensive, edgy and strained. Castiel is watching Sam intently, and Sam can tell, just from a inhaling the stale air, that Lucifer isn't here. It was a nerve racking dream and maybe he's in his head but he's not in the room. Not really.

It all boils down to trust. Trust and family.

Dean and Castiel are his brothers, his best friends; Bobby is practically a second father. He thinks of Dean, young and afraid, taking care of him while their dad hunted monsters in the shadows. He thinks of Castiel, and his deep, meaningful looks, of the care he takes with them, especially with Dean, of the smiles and timid almost happy family they are building. He thinks of Bobby, a man who has had such a hard life, a man welcoming them into his home, their home too, feeding them, looking out for them, and helping where he can. He thinks of his family. His wonderful, unconventional, peculiar and loving family.

Does he trust Lucifer enough to not hurt them?

And, yeah, Sam hates it, but he actually is starting to trust the Archangel. It's uneasy and sometimes, a lot of the time, he frets and is nervous, but there is trust. The walls and shadows are sliding and Sam can't hold them up, because Lucifer is right. They're bound. They're in each other's head, thoughts, and dreams. They can't escape each other and can't forget.

Sam trusts Lucifer — to an extent. It was a strange kind of trust. He trusts Lucifer, absurdly, not to force the yes out of him, because all these months the devil has been by his side he's slowly stopped asking and slowly started to let the torture fade. Now, he's just there, and this is the first time Sam thinks of it as watching over, not stalking. He couldn't put a reason to why, and wasn't sure he wanted to. It was messed up already, the thoughts, the lingering senses, and when he thought about it particularly hard in Lucifer's company, Lucifer would smile, slow and soft and content, like he knew the answer.

Lucifer probably knows everything about him. Sam is weirdly okay with this.

"Sam?" Dean says softly, a question, not a warning.

"I'm here," Sam says, "I'm okay."

"I'm okay, too, Sammy," Dean yawns, "We're going to be okay."

Sam thinks of Ellen, of Jo, of their dad, and Sam knows this is just a beautiful lie.


	3. Chapter 3

Sleep is avoiding Sam and as the sky grows light he feels morning is mocking him. Sam isn't even sure he wants to sleep, because he knows what he'll find, and sleep is no friend. Sometimes, Sam forgets what Lucifer really is, what he has become. No matter how well he can act nice, Sam knows that under the self-satisfied smile and smooth slips of fingers, there is something that long ago slid past evil. There is fury in Lucifer, fury and rage and resentment and Sam knows well not to push that.

The risk of provoking the devil by staying awake is one Sam is following almost unwillingly. But Castiel is watching, already irritated. So Sam breathes and waits, trying to pacify his brother and the angel. He can see it in their eyes though—they don't trust him not to tell Lucifer where they are if they let him sleep. As long as he's awake, with the runes carved into his ribs, no one will find them. Sam doesn't point out that he found them last time regardless of any protection. Lucifer knows Sam's mind as well as Sam by now and he doesn't doubt if he really wanted to, Lucifer could just waltz right in with a wink.

They don't really have a plan now. Dean's baby is parked God knows how many miles away, and he's fretting, because if Lucy even touches my car God help him—But the threats are nothing now, not really, because even Dean is slowly realising there isn't exactly a way out of this one. He has to look at the bigger picture. The car is too obvious and for now it stays put, and so do they.

Sam is sick of this already. He doesn't want to hide. It's maddening. And stop it stop it damn it stop because he can't stop thinking. He needs to stop and he doesn't want to stop and—"Stop staring at me, Cas, it's creepy!" He snaps out suddenly.

"You're thinking very loudly," Castiel observes, hurt, but shifts his gaze away, eyes following Dean instead. Dean is pacing, eyes flickering about, checking the salt under the windows, filling water guns with holy water, muttering about pie and arsehole angels.

"Can we just go to Bobby's?" Dean asks, because he's clearly uncomfortable. It seems like he's too out in the open, too obvious. Dean doesn't like being cooped up, but it's been a day, he can't complain too much, but at Bobby's they have a panic room, they have beer and books and bad TV and clean sheets. They have somewhere that feels safe even if it isn't safer.

Bobby's is the closest thing to home they have. And Dean just wants to go home. The look on Dean's face is past deeply sad and into heart-breaking.

Sam shifts uncomfortably when Castiel gives in so easily, and together they shuffle into the car park, leaving the motel room messier than when they found it. Blood has been added to the collection of stains, chalk and more coffee.

Outside, the sun creates elegant shadows. The light blinds Sam's eyes, and continues to do so, both from the sun, and the deep gust of animated air that embodies the bright glow while Castiel transports them. Something feels off, but neither Dean nor Castiel seem worried. Well, they are worried, terrified even, but they aren't watching the air like Sam is, afraid it's going to crack.

Bobby's looks the same as normal—tired and dusty and full of metal and demon traps and hex bags. Bobby doesn't look surprised to see them; he snorts gruffly at Dean's expression, and opens the door wide. Because whatever nonsense they're bringing they're still family, they still need him and he needs them. Although he won't be saying that aloud any time soon. Sam lingers outside, and doesn't miss the concern on Dean's face. He figures he'll let Dean explain before he goes inside; he doesn't really want to hear it again. He doesn't want the pity, the outrage, the terror. He just wants to listen to the silence, watch the air shimmy in a furious fashion. He wonders if Lucifer is messing with him, making things shift slightly, heavily. He wonders if what he is feeling is real. He wonders if Lucifer will ever stop being a bit of a dick.

"What did you just call me?" Lucifer says indignant. He stands right beside Sam, like he never left, and Sam thinks maybe he didn't. Maybe the chaos in the air is Lucifer, maybe that's what the breath of an Archangel feels like when it tumbles uncensored from his lips, when he's trying his hardest to not be bright but the look in Sam's eyes keeps making him shine.

"Dick." Sam mutters again, because he doesn't want to feel attached to the devil, and follows Dean and Castiel into the house.

He leans in the doorway joining the kitchen to Bobby's living room where his family wait. Bobby has his nose in a book, already researching and wondering and hoping it was something crazy like a projection, that Lucifer is not on their tails. But he doesn't understand—Sam doesn't want Lucifer to go even if he won't admit it. Dean is fidgeting with his weapons, as if packing and unpacking in a continuous loop will leave him more prepared. Castiel is already painting the walls in his blood when Sam huffs in and Sam wishes he could have offered to do that, so Castiel and Dean wouldn't have to, because this is his fault. He must have done something by accident, let him in somehow, so that Lucifer could find him. But he can't pin point a moment. Lucifer has been with him for so long; eventually he had to talk back. Maybe that's what caused it—letting the devil get to know him through Sam's words rather than what Lucifer could glimpse in his mind. As a friend. Admittedly, friendship with the devil was never something Sam intended, but those 3am nights when he was a bit drunk and a bit brave, he could be honest to himself. Having Lucifer around wasn't bad anymore. The screams, the torture, all of it had died away into content staring and confusing questions.

Maybe it wasn't friendship yet, maybe it was something else, and maybe it was a craving. Sam's not sure he trusts himself to crave something…

Sam craves Lucifer and Lucifer needs him. This is what prompts Sam to say a real and overly loud "Sorry."

Lucifer slides in behind Sam, resting his hand on the top of Sam's spine in a silent acceptance. But Bobby is looking at him. His eyes swim with pity.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Sam," he says, slamming his book to emphasis his statement. And Sam nods, like that's what he meant, because that's what he really should be sorry for. The fact he cares so much about hurting Lucifer is mad—whatever side of the spectrum he is on in the scale of good and evil, he is still an Archangel, and physically, Sam is kind of powerless. But mentally? Sam doesn't think he could ever twist with his head the way Lucifer did to him. Sensing the thought, Lucifer gently rubs his face isn't the space between Sam's shoulder blades, a shake of the head, not quite an apology, but a promise—I won't do it again. I won't hurt you. I promise.

"This is all Lucifer being a twat," Dean adds to Bobby's words, "but we'll sort it. We're not letting him take you." He sounds so determined and Lucifer chuckles low and warm in Sam's ear. Because of course the devil doubts Dean. Sam wonders if he's right to. Maybe it wasn't a doubt; maybe it was his appreciation of what Dean is trying to do. Dean's a better brother than any Lucifer has and they both know it even if at different levels.

"I don't think Sam was talking to us," Castiel says without pausing or looking up, because of course Castiel can sense something isn't right and, damn, it really wasn't a good thing to say if the uncomfortable, shocked silence and Dean's too loud curse are anything to go by. But Sam isn't looking at any of them now. His eyes are glued to the floor determinedly and Lucifer stays perfectly still behind him, as if waiting for Sam to introduce him, his fingers giving a slight pressure against his neck. Sam wonders what it would have been like if, in another life, he had the chance to bring Lucifer home and introduce him to his parents. He thinks of how maybe, just maybe, his mother would smile and tell him to be happy. He thinks of dad being over protective and threatening in a "you break his heart I'll break your face" way. But for that Lucifer would have to be someone different and Sam doesn't need someone else. He needs his guardian angel. Sam's own neediness should probably bother him, but he pushes past it, and leans back into Lucifer's touch and sighs. Lucifer sighs too, tickling and soft, and he melts backwards further, his back to Lucifer's chest because he's so tired and Lucifer is so warm and he needs this.

When Sam blinks back into attention there is a gun aimed at the place slightly to his right, where Lucifer looms, leaning to peer round his shoulder while his arms enclose around Sam. Sam freezes, as if he wasn't still enough before, he is now made of marble.

"Get away from him," Dean growls. Lucifer sighs impatiently and runs a hand through Sam's hair, just once, before stepping completely to the side. No one is as surprised as Dean that Lucifer followed his instruction, but that doesn't pull a pause from the righteous man. Dean shoots first and thinks later. This bullet though caused no difference.

"I liked this shirt." Lucifer states, dusting at the front of his chest. He casually pulls out a piece of metal and flicks it to the floor. The end of this action is punctuated by Bobby throwing a bible at the devil. It bounces off his chest and tumbles to the floor with a crash. Both of Lucifer's eyebrows shoot up and even Castiel looks on the verge of amusement.

Dean lets his arm fall to his side, but keeps a firm hold of his gun. "So… What do we do with him?" He asks suddenly.

Lucifer choses this moment to hum Stairway to Heaven under his breath—complete with guitar solo. There are no words and all Sam can do is stand awkwardly beside the man and with sudden inspiration to even more awkwardly introduce him to his terrified, confused family.

"This is Lucifer." Sam states casually. He's really screaming inside. Lucifer waves.

"Oh, you igit." Bobby says. Dean can't help it. He just can't. One moment he's so surprised, because the devil and Sammy are practically cuddling in the kitchen and—

"It's not funny, Dean!" Sam protests.

"I also fail to see the amusement." Castiel offers when Dean only laughs harder. Dean makes a graceless noise and takes a deep breath.

"Okay, I'm okay," his voice wavers like he might laugh again. Laughing beats crying and dammit this is funny. His brother… and the devil. Does no one else seriously think that's funny?

Dean gets up to make himself a coffee. Irish coffee maybe. Or just the Irish part. Because, yeah, he's going to need coffee for this. Sam flinches when Dean walks past them into the kitchen and Dean just rolls his eyes because he's given up. Fine, you win, God, we'll spend some quality time with little Lucy, he thinks with a snort.

"We need some ground rules," Dean continues, "Like, don't kill anyone we like, or any people, and if you even touch Sammy again I'm going to break you. No devil kisses! Then we have the apocalypse issue: that shit is not happening. Okay?" If their dad was around he could give Sam his first 'inappropriate boyfriend' speech, Dean thinks. Is that what this is? This is so far from okay. He's laughing again though. Hysterically.

"Yeah, okay," Sam says although he looks on the edge of hysteria himself. Bobby finally looks like he can breathe again but doesn't know what to say. What can you say?

Lucifer is doing a very good impression of Castiel's confused head tilt. Castiel is joining him and for a moment Dean can clearly see the family resemblance or at least traits. Humans are obviously as confusing as hell and don't get them started on the reckless, wild emotions thing.

"Don't say yeah, okay, like yeah, okay."

"Yeah, okay," Sam manages. Beside him, Lucifer rolls his eyes. He's sliding closer again and Dean's coffee making stills. Lucifer's eyes on Sam are unwavering, like a faithful puppy, only maybe he's more of a shark than a puppy. Sam tries not to imagine Lucifer pouting, with wide eyes and an innocent expression. He fails.

"I'm too old for this," Bobby grumbles loudly. And then, "Wait… Sam kissed Lucifer?"


	4. Chapter 4

The silence is as unwavering as Lucifer's stare, which now has a hungry glint. "If you're upset about missing the show, we can always give a repeat performance," He offers with a sly grin, winking at Sam. Sam pales and his pulse quickens. And it's strange and not strange at the same time. Sam imagines days and weeks and a life time of Lucifer's taunting jokes and Dean's warm laughter and Castiel's eyes crinkling as his lips tilt up. He imagines Bobby laughing, really laughing, and he imagines all these sounds and images merged together, a big, happy, carefree family. And it's not an impossible thought, not anymore. Not when Lucifer is joking and holding his hand and not having an apocalypse tantrum.

"No," Dean says quickly, waving his coffee cup in a threatening manner. Sam doesn't see the other angel move, but Castiel is by Dean's side almost instantly, as if to try and calm Dean's hysterics, as if to act as a shield, just to be there for Dean. It's sweet, really. It's so simple and so obvious that Dean doesn't quite see it, but Lucifer does, and he knows what's behind the movements. A most profound bond, Sam thinks, with a small smile, and it almost feels like he hears, actually hears, Lucifer echo the thought from him.

"Don't you trust me, little brother?" Lucifer smirks.

"Listen, I don't know what this shit is but don't, fucking don't, think you can play with Sam," Dean snaps, like he's an over protective father, and he kind of is, really, because if anyone raised Sammy it was him and if anyone was always there for Sammy it was Dean. He always tries his best and that's all he can do. His best right now is words, just words, because what else is there? A gun won't beat the devil. Sam is suddenly thinking something along the same lines as Dean. Things like please don't let this be a game and don't hurt us, don't hurt my family, all I have left is in this room and is that why you're here, to taunt Castiel? And Sam knows he really needs to work on thinking less because both Lucifer and Castiel are looking at him. He feels like an abyss. He almost snorts at that idea, but it's chilling too, because Lucifer could quite easily dip into the depths of Sam's soul. He could hide in the abyss for eons, learning and living Sam.

"What game do you think I play? You're important to me," Lucifer says to Sam, roughly. He turns from Dean, from Castiel, and ignores Bobby's look of contempt. He makes it sound like a flaw he's unsure whether he should be fighting, and that more than anything makes something in Sam's chest go tight and hard. He makes it sound like it's the first flaw in humanity he finds he likes. A flaw of beauty and yet still a flaw that can destroy. "You were made for me, Sam. Every cell, every atom, every spec of you. I knew we were meant to be together. It seems I was simply wrong about how."

"Wait…" Dean says, "I get you're having a moment, but what the hell? Do you think Sam's your soul mate or something?" The words soul mate echo. Sam wonders if Lucifer is making it happen. He always liked to be dramatic.

"Something like that." Lucifer shrugs. Sam can't help his small smile.

"Why are you smiling like a school girl with a crush with the archangel that wants to wear you?" Bobby exhales loudly, exasperated. Dean sniggers, quickly, trying to keep up the angry front, but Sam sees Dean isn't sure. He can't find Lucifer's game, doesn't know why he could be here if he doesn't really think Sam is… his soul mate.

"I think that is ruining the moment," Castiel says seriously to Bobby. Bobby throws his hands up with an impatient noise.

"Fine. You four, sort it out. And don't blow my house up, you idjits." He turns back to his books, muttering. How wonders if when they sort it all out and Lucifer turns out to not be a maniac if he'll fact check some of his books, translate the Angel whispers. But right, now he wants no more to do with this frankly crazy conversation.

"Lucifer… he isn't here to hurt us," Castiel frowns into the new, stagnant silence. And Sam notices Lucifer is pilling the same expression he himself pulls when Lucifer dips into his head for a rummage. He must be allowing Castiel to look… He can't have anything but good intentions if he's allowing Castiel to check. Sam considers this with a chill as the words the road to hell is paved with good intentions ghosts into focus, unwelcomed.

"So, you say he's coming over to our side?" Dean questions. His eyes seek Lucifer's.

"Something like that," Lucifer repeats slowly. He is immobile, his hand frozen around Sam's.

Sam nods. "It looks like he's growing attached." He lifts his arm, Lucifer's coming with it as he refuses to let go. Somehow, the Archangel still appears dignified as Sam forces his arm to move in an ungainly way. Sam wonders why he allows him to move him, but Lucifer's eyes are on Dean.

Castiel nods his head in agreement with Sam's assessment of the situation. Dean slowly relaxes. Not enough that he couldn't grab a gun or knife or a coffee mug to cause some damage with, but enough that Sam feels like his parents are accepting his unruly boyfriend finally. The day before the wedding kind of finally. Only this isn't quite the same situation. Still, it's a step in some kind of right direction. No one is killing each other. That's always good.

"I don't trust you, but you get a chance. One chance," Dean says. "Don't make me regret it, because if anything happens to Sammy…"

"Acceptable," Lucifer nods.

"Right," Bobby says, "now that's settled, breakfast?" Lucifer, if possible, grips Sam's hand tighter.

"Did you ever imagine that one day me, you, two Angels of the Lord and Bobby would be eating bacon sandwiches together?" Dean asks after ten minutes of awkward cooking. Sam shakes his head with a slow smile. On the other side of him, at Bobby's wobbly table, Lucifer pokes at his bacon roll with elegant interest. Opposite them, Castiel smiles.

"It's about the enjoyment," he offers Lucifer, "it doesn't matter if you don't need it, it's for the taste." Dean looks proud, even if he didn't say it quite right. Lucifer takes a bite gracefully. He chews and four sets of eyes watch him like a mildly entertaining television programme. He chews some more. "Swallow?" Castiel suggests.

Lucifer does. He pauses, and then takes another bite. Dean looks like he could cheer.

"Next, we have to make him try pie," Dean grins, and Bobby raises his eyebrows. "Look, if he tries pie there is no way he's going to want to destroy the world. I mean, who could destroy pie?" Castiel shakes his head, his eyes bright, and even Bobby smiles.

There is a warm feeling in Sam's chest and the word family swims before his eyes. The word seeps in, and Sam can feel in this time, like a question, from Lucifer. He pulls slightly on the word and Lucifer drops his bacon roll back on to his plate abruptly. Their eyes meet ad the word gives way to a rope, no, stronger than that: a chain. The words, the sounds, and the air weave themselves into chains of water, angry tides crashing against the confined spaces of Sam's head, of Lucifer's skull, moaning for them to feel it, to pull against the ocean, the connection, and the word soul mate jumps right from the chain, not either of them. Fucking hell. Something like that? Exactly that. Sam's soul and Lucifer's grace knit together then slip away, back and forward like the water, stilling and settling as the chain stretches. The air crackles. Bobby drops his cup.

"Fuck," Sam mutters.

"Later," Lucifer breathes, and Dean chokes, if he wasn't already.

"Lucifer…" Castiel begins careful, "Your grace…" And Sam tries to conceal his laughter, because his mind has jumped to the Castiel sized hand print that lingers on Dean's shoulder and Lucifer's voice whispers for only him to hear profound bond, soul mate, same thing.

"What?" Dean demands. Frustrated easily, isn't he? Lucifer's thoughts glide into his, and Sam shudders at the feeling. The words feel like nibbles against his neck. He can feel Lucifer's amusement at Dean, and his worry, that Sam will try and run, try and break the waves of chains linking them.

Before he can help himself, Sam shakes the image from Lucifer, his own nibbles of though more of a direct bite to Lucifer's pulse. I'm here, you're here, and we're okay. He doesn't know why he thinks it, or quite what he means, but Lucifer does, and Castiel's confused determination tells Sam although it was a private conversation, he knows exactly what happened.

"It seems your idea of 'soul mates' was accurate," Castiel offers. "Stopping your grace from bonding to your intended is difficult, and can be painful, I'm surprised Lucifer held on so long, and confused as to why he did."

Sorry, I was going to ask first, but… you're right here; it's problematic when my grace is screaming to be closer to you all the time. It was rather demanding. Lucifer's emotions bleed into Sam for a second, how he's been trying to understand the unbreakable chains reaching out for months, how he realised, how difficult it had been to not just pull Sam to him. How that's why Dean has the scar, but Castiel realised their connection too late, because he never wanted to let him go. Sam considers problematic to be a good word, he also considers the fact this is the happiest he has been for months. Maybe even years.

"Lucifer and Sammy? My baby brother and the devil?" Dean asks dazed, indignant.

"Hypocrite," Sam snorts. Castiel manages to look sheepish, and Dean just splutters. Sam shrugs at Dean easily, and he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, self-conscious.

All Bobby can say is "idjits," before he starts clearing the table and the shards of his dropped cup.

Sam wonders if "what now," is an appropriate question but before he has a chance to voice it Castiel is washing up and Bobby is making a list of books to ask Lucifer about and Dean is humming and getting up, only to go and drop down on the sofa, and Sam thinks it must mean something for him to feel safe enough to fall asleep here, with them all present.

Sam realises it means they're family. A stubborn, loyal, and strange family, but a family none the less.

I'll be back. Lucifer promises silently, a kiss on Sam's throat, and then the flutter of wings. The room feels too empty without him, and Dean glances up lazily, a questioning eyebrow. Sam shakes his head fondly, and Bobby takes no notice. The come and go of an angel is not something questioned too much anymore. Only Sam really pays much attention to the sudden absence, and he realises this is how Dean feels all the time Castiel is not with them.

The plates are clean and Castiel kicks Dean's leg until he moves up. Sam joins them after a minute and a minute turns to an hour or so, the TV playing re-runs of the Star Wars films and Dean demanding they educate Cas. The sun moves, the hands on the clock follow, and Bobby changes books. There is such a fondness to the scene, such obvious affection, and tenderness. Sam leaves them to their long looks and Bobby to his long books.

Upstairs, there are four rooms. Bobby's, the bathroom, and the rooms that are always called spare but really, are Sam's and Dean's. He finds Lucifer curled up in the centre of his double bed under the blankets.

"Lucifer?" Sam asks quietly. There is murmur of response. Sam pokes him.

"You're in my bed," Sam states when Lucifer sleepily raises his head. "You're tired?" Sam says, surprised. Lucifer sighs, grabs at Sam's arm and pulls. They're suddenly a maze of limbs and sighs and a mass of ocean. It's a web of chains that do not restrict, but aid, and hold and caress. Lucifer curls around Sam, just an echo of a whisper on the nape of his neck.

"We don't need to sleep, but we can, and I would like to be able to sleep with you," he explains.

"Oh," Sam says, and Lucifer snuggles closer and Sam for a moment thinks shit, this is weird, and then… it's just… not. There's so much time for this, to be more than this, to live and learn and know. There's time. There's time to count split ends and light candles; to drive slow and sing softly. There's time to trace the lines around Lucifer's eyes with a fingertip and draw constellations on his skin, to wake with feathers on the floor and light in the windows, to research and work and hunt and still have this at the end of the day. And there is time to have family. There is time enough to close his eyes and tilt his head back into Lucifer's neck and smell the salt in the air even miles away from the sea. The watery chains chime in celebration. There is time to seek peace in the darkest of places and smile down on the lines in the road. There is time for Lucifer to sooth his dreams and time for Sam to sooth his.

There's time. There's plenty of time.

I love you, Sam thinks.

The devil chuckles. "You're not just my vessel, Sam, no, you're more. I need you with me, I don't want to control you, I want you," murmurs Lucifer, mouth against Sam's temple and a hand carding loosely through his hair. "I'm a part of you. Always have been, always will be. I love you."

"I love you," Sam mumbles back, because he needs to say it out loud, needs to hear the way his heart is screaming in the silence, rolling over and wrapping an arm around his Archangel.

Fuck it, he's completely seamlessly happy. For a few long perfect moments, every being under Bobby Singer's roof knows. This is home, this is family, this is picture perfect. And this is real.


	5. Chapter 5

Waking up with Lucifer curled around him, warm and looking as harmless as a puppy is a strange experience. Sam shifts, confused at the arms wrapped around his waist, drawing him ever closer. He isn't confused for long, the memories of the last couple of days rush back with the force of a gale. Even with the memories, the idea of a demonic puppy that his mind conjures up makes little sense. There is no need for urgency, and Sam sinks back into the arms shielding him from the nightmares. He's safe and content and the current of thoughts floats by easily. It's okay, it's really okay.

In the calm, familiar moment that's love and home and hope, Sam is paying too much attention to the dozing, smirking Archangel who is more than aware of all Sam's thoughts. The way Sam is imagining leaning down, just slightly, to brush their lips together, slowly and deliberately. The way Sam is wondering where Lucifer even got pyjamas from and if it would be inappropriate to slide his hands under them, to sooth and taste with his fingertips. Lucifer hums a little, pushing his hip firmly into the place Sam's hand rests. Sam finds it too easy to forget what Lucifer is, what he has become, he sees through the broken wings and tainted grace. He sees his Archangel, the hidden beauty, and he sees the man waking from his dreams to smile easily at him like this is an everyday occurrence. Sam hopes it will become so.

"Good morning, Sammy," Lucifer whispers, his mouth curling at the corners.

"Hey," Sam answers, a bit shakily, but not from doubt, not anymore. This feels too right to be doubted.

"I told you," Lucifer replies to the thought, "I'm a part of you. Always have been, always will be. You're a part of me. Two puzzle pieces, you could say." He chuckles, slow and drowsy. Sam wonders how he can even be drowsy. Seeing him so relaxed and slow is strange.

"Are you going to stay every night?" Sam asks, trying to sound uninterested instead of madly hopeful.

"If you want me to," Lucifer says, "Then I will be here."

"I want you to."

Lying together like this, they are complete joined. Their minds overlap slightly through the bond, their legs curl together, their hands intertwine, hands deliberately caress hips and arms and eyelids and shoulder blades. Lucifer possessively coils a hand into Sam's hair, twisting just a little, and then he raises his eye brow and leans up slightly, giving a grin that's a bit more of a leer.

"I'm waiting for my good morning kiss," Lucifer explains. It's a demand Sam is willing to give. His hand curves into Lucifer's hip, holding him in place as he rests his lips against Lucifer's, inhaling his gasp that seems almost surprised at Sam's acceptance. Sam remembers the first time they kissed, how he tasted—darkness and honey and smoke, and light and warmth and coffee, too. The tastes are the same, some more pronounced. The warmth and the light Sam associates with an Angel's grace pour into him at the touch of Lucifer's tongue, demanding and yet leisurely. Lucifer is unhurried, and slow and gentle, something Sam was unprepared for. It's Lucifer, and maybe when they kissed before they didn't really have time for something that wasn't fast and dirty, but Sam still didn't think Lucifer had it in him to be some measured. He expected it to be rough and it is, he supposes, but he hadn't expected it to be slow, so slow his throat turns tight and his chest smoulders into one hot knot of heat and liquid iron. Sam is burning from the inside out. This kiss is memorising him and consuming him all at once, Lucifer's lips pushing Sam's apart carefully, easily, firmly—his tongue pressing is arrogant, slipping up against Sam's with such confidence it was as if he already knew every inch of him, and he probably did. They are one. Slowly, Sam forgets about time, forgets about anything and everything except the feeling of being taken apart by this, slowly but surely.

"I could ruin you, Sam," Lucifer pulls back to murmur, breathing into Sam's mouth, inhaling the soft groan that follows his words. Sam can't stutter out a response, and instead kisses Lucifer again, messy and fast, full of fire and that hint of darkness, desperate darkness.

When Lucifer pulls away again Sam tries to force out a protest, but words fail him as Lucifer's teeth possessively graze Sam's neck.

It's then that Dean's hand hammers the door. "Breakfast, Sammy!"

"I'll be a second—oh," Lucifer sucks hard at his neck. "Save me some?" He manages and Dean snorts.

"No promises," He yells in return, but he doesn't open the door and as his footsteps fade, all Sam can do is breathe.

Lucifer grins as he gracefully leaps from the bed, pulling the curtains open. Sam groans in complaint

"Don't be a baby," Lucifer laughs, "It's time to start the day, Sammy."

"Don't call me Sammy," He grumbles, but sits up fitfully to watch Lucifer rummage around in Sam's bag. He doesn't question it when Lucifer dresses in one of his shirts. He pretends the way the cotton sleeves hang loose and too long doesn't make him feel protective, doesn't make him make comparisons between the devil and every adorable thing in existence. Sam shrugs into his own clothing, clean and yet still smelling like him, like warm dusty dirt, like sunshine and home.

They stumble into the kitchen together, Sam dropping into the seat beside Dean and reaching for the bacon and snagging the last bit of toast, too. Bobby is off somewhere, and Castiel hovers by the table, not needing to eat but not willing to leave them while Dean is still uneasy.

Dean glances at Lucifer and then looks at Sam and freezes. Sam, mid mouthful of too cool toast, pauses too.

"What?" He demands. Lucifer tries to look as innocent as possible and suspects Castiel really wants to smile.

In the end, Dean settles for laughter.

"You have a hickey," He sniggers.

Sometimes Sam thinks he has the words—the right ones, the true ones, the ones worthy of grace—but just when he realises they words have been on the tip of his tongue all along, when he notices them float as an unhurried whisper across his spine, they slip back between his lips and dissolve under his tongue. And so Sam doesn't explain to Dean, doesn't even try. He doesn't say I'm in love or I think I'm happy. He doesn't explain that their souls fit so closely, that he feels whole, that he didn't wake up and feel remorse for Jess or Madison because he knows that now, everything is okay, that Lucifer knows every inch of his mind, and he forgives him. He doesn't say he has seen Lucifer, asleep and vulnerable, felt his glowing grace, and he understands, he accepts. He knows what the devil can do, what he is capable of, whom and how he could hurt them.

He doesn't say it's more than a hickey, it's a claim, it's a promise, it's Lucifer's funny idea of Castiel's handprint. Both angels had wanted to leave a mark.

"Shut up," Sam says, instead, blushing slightly, and behind him he can sense the warmth radiating from Lucifer at his thoughts. He feels like a bit of an idiot, because Dean is laughing and Castiel is clearly amused and Lucifer is radiating warmth and possessiveness. He's kind of glad Bobby isn't about to see his neck. Sam continues feeling like an idiot, but he kind of likes the mark and anyway, he always does around Dean in a sense, because, for example, right now, Dean has turned away from giggling at Sam's neck in favour of waving a fork and making aeroplane noises at a straight faced Castiel. It's hard to feel part of an intelligent situation, but it's also hilariously happy, and homely, and everyone in the room is content. It's perfect, even when Dean makes an incredible enthusiastic swoop of his fork and the bacon ends up on Castiel's shoes.

Breakfast is over quickly after that, and Sam isn't sure what to make of Castiel shuffling around in his socks. They're blue and purple and worn thin. Sam ends up on washing up duty for getting up late and he almost tries to blame Lucifer but thinks better of it.

It's a quiet day. None of them are too sure what to do. Of course, they are hunts to be done, but none of them feel like finding a case. Bobby is content to research, building his own journals, with Castiel translating Enochian for him. Dean works on the Impala, which after the devil spent the night and didn't kill anyone, Dean felt okay enough to send Castiel to retrieve. Dean is still very much over protective big brother, even if he now finds humour in the situation. ("A hickey, Sam? A fucking hickey?")

Both Lucifer and Sam are content in Bobby's library, with Bobby and occasionally Castiel flitting in and out in search of text books.

"The amount of bias in the Bible is fascinating," Lucifer informs him after half an hour. "I'd quite like to meet the author."

"Wouldn't that be God?" Sam asks absently, and Lucifer quirks an eyebrow.

"I hear Father prefers to write for the fictional market," Lucifer says smoothly, "Through my cage I could still see flashes of humanity and it seems Father enjoys it here greatly. Although he wasn't able to continue his series if I recall. Something about his publisher being an arse. Shame. I lost him after that." He adds.

"Did you… are you implying Chuck is God?" Sam asks suddenly, because that's all his mind can come up with. Chuck's fictional books that aren't fictional after all.

"Who's Chuck?" Lucifer says neatly, folding the corner of his page and wandering away. Sam shakes his head, sighs out his laugh, and continues to skim the pages for a moment before following Lucifer.

He finds him leaning calmly in the kitchen door way watching Dean, Bobby and Castiel argue. Well, it's less of an argument, more of them all talking at once.

"You're telling me is that Lucifer doesn't want the world to end any longer?" Bobby asks, sceptical, because, yeah, maybe he cares about Sam as more than just a vessel, but the guy was pretty hyped about the whole let's kill the entire human race thing, and dammit Bobby has to be sure.

"While he was sleeping I scanned his mind and found no ill intent." Castiel protests.

"He was sleeping? Where? Wait, don't say with Sammy!" Dean moans. He didn't need that image.

"The kid has a purple mark on his neck, where did you think Lucifer had been all night?" Bobby retorts.

"No ill intent!" Castiel repeats impatiently. "Soul bound, remember?"

"And? Is that really trustworthy?"

"The devil is sleeping with my brother!" Dean mutters.

"Can you stop being so paranoid for five seconds?" Castiel snaps.

"Well, where did he disappear to yesterday then?" Dean demands.

"Has the world gone mad?" Lucifer murmurs.

"Guys?" Sam ventures loudly. The room quickly goes silent, eyes jumping to their observers. "You could just ask him," he gestures wildly at Lucifer who gives a wave when no one utters a syllable. "Civilly." He adds quickly, because he doesn't want Dean yelling at the devil. He doubts it would end well. And Sam can't deny he is curious too, about where Lucifer flew off too, but Castiel vanishes all the time and they don't question his whereabouts like a pair of strict, over protective parents. Castiel is a grown up, he can go where he wants, when he wants, and they trust him to come back, to come when they call. Why should Lucifer be any different? Sam knows the answer, even if he doesn't want to think it. It's different because the devil suddenly joining Team Free Will isn't exactly a trustworthy occurrence.

"Brother," Castiel asks. "Would you mind informing Dean of your trip?"

It's then Sam realises Castiel trusts Lucifer. He trusts his big bag of dicks brother, he trusts Sam, and he trusts their judgment and bond, because through the same ideas, he learnt to trust Dean. Sam isn't actually sure what made Castiel decide to trust Lucifer so quickly, but Sam knows Castiel is at least aware of where Lucifer went even if not privy to all the details.

"I went to have a little chat with some friends," Lucifer shrugs, "You know, calling off the end of the world, getting my demon friends to stop slaughtering the population. No big deal."

"You… why?" Bobby asks. "I'm not complaining, but changed your mind pretty suddenly."

"For Sam," Lucifer says. "It's all for Sam." Sam suddenly realises they're holding hands and can't look at Dean in case he laughs.

Castiel looks almost proud. Dean shifts awkwardly. This is such a chick flick moment.

"Listen… Lucifer, you guys have a bond thing and that's awesome, but it's as weird as fuck too and I'm just getting used to it okay. So I guess… No ill intent from me either."

"Our lives are a bad soap opera," Bobby says gruffly. "You know what? I'm happy for you idjits. Now get out my kitchen, go save some people, and for the love of God, if I find any of you fucking on my sofa—"

"Whoa, okay, Bobby," Dean interrupts swiftly. "We're going."

That's how they end up setting out on a hunt, two angels in the back seat, one with a coat on in the middle of summer, Asia playing on the radio, a pile of burger rappers on the dashboard and a heap of weapons in the boot. That fact that it's just another average road trip does nothing but make Sam smile.


	6. Chapter 6

A simple salt and burn, Bobby had said, just a small ghost problem. Find out whom, burn the bones, go home. A day or two tops. Sam should have known better—when is it ever a simple salt and burn?

The house they pull up at looks lonely and frail, and reminds Sam of skin, of the cracks in his palms, of his scars, and of the texture of scabs. It looks lost in a mass of weeds and Sam thinks it's a weird case really, because no one lives here, the houses around it look normal and calm, and just as lonely, and even if it's for sale, anything supernatural dwelling there seems dormant enough. Except, you know, when Dean slams the car door and all the windows in the house shatter with a sound that makes both the humans flinch. The house seems brighter now, like something is holding in a mass of warmth just out of sight.

"Well, let's get on with it," Dean mutters. Lucifer doesn't say anything, but he recognises the building from a memory hidden deep in the back of his mind. Castiel does too, but like, Lucifer cannot place it, is tongue tied, and doesn't tell the Winchesters to stop as they confidently start forwards the door. Sam is pushing Dean with a laugh, and with gentle teasing.

Lucifer has a sudden memory, one he desperately tries to push away as Castiel quirks an eyebrow to listen in. He can't push it away. He can't. Lucifer can hear the words; taste them in the air, like they're happening again right now.

"Don't forget, you learned all of your tricks from me, little brother." Lucifer had said softly. Lucifer bites his lip hard. He swallows. All he can do is stand and look onwards, at where the world has taken him. Everyone must make sacrifices. He wished his little brother hadn't been one of them. Lucifer breathes, long and deep, and in his memory, he takes one last look into the face of his favourite brother. Gabriel's face will not let itself be blinked away. Lucifer thinks he can smell his sweet, sickly scent, and he hears Castiel's painful exhale at the memory. They both remember joking, laughing, just like Sam and Dean, they both remember a time when they were just brothers, not soldiers. At least not against each other.

There is more to the memory, something about the house, something Lucifer still can't place, but Castiel does, and Lucifer watches the thought unfold, the little house built in the in-between, the world between heaven and earth, a gate way to earth and to heaven, a spare for angels to create vessels and watch over the humans, a hauntingly beautiful and dense forest, formed of where The Garden of Eden once rested, of God's most stunning creations—a favourite spot of Gabriel, his escape from the constant bickering of the other Archangels.

"Wait—" Castiel starts, but Dean's hand is already on the door handle, swinging it open, and suddenly, both brothers are gone.

"Fuck," Lucifer says slowly.

"You think?" Castiel snaps.

And then they're running, dammit, and Lucifer pulls and grips and clings to any traces of Sam, but even through the bond, it's as if Sam has just gone, and he feels so fucking broken. Broken doesn't even convey it. He can hear Castiel calling out the same way and then they're on the steps and— oh, God, oh, before either of them can reach the door, the house explodes in a shower of stars, molten metal and grace, a parade of colours bursting at the seams. Lucifer doesn't stop. He leaps into the flames.

* * *

"Dean?" Sam asks quietly. On the other end of the spectrum, they're inside the house, the hall way, which is long and winding, full of shelves, and he doesn't remember walking in, and from the look on his brother's face, he's just as confused. It's dim and spacious, and isn't what Sam expected. It's humble, and not, all at once. It's a place designed for comfort, full of books and trinkets, like amulets and rings, wine glasses and cursed boxes. It's like a dumping ground for someone's most important memories, for a life time longer than expected.

An angel blade is mounted on the wall of the first room they enter. Sam peers closer.

"Is that… an Archangel's sword?" Dean says hesitantly, and Sam nods, reaching out to trace the swirling symbols curled into the blade.

Dean grabs his arm, hard. "Hey!" Sam protests. Dean shrugs, looking put out.

"I just have a feeling you shouldn't touch it," Dean says. It's not until Sam glances at the table across the room that he thinks, maybe, just maybe he understands. Because it's littered in candy wrappers.

"Gabriel?" He whispers and Dean shushes him harshly.

"Hey, kiddo," Gabriel shoots back, and Sam and Dean twist in place, trying to pin point the voice, "Nice of you to visit," he says lazily. Sam doesn't react, because this is crazy and Lucifer is outside—the guy who killed him in the first place.

"We thought you were dead!" Dean shouts angrily, "What the hell are you doing?"

Car sirens are screeching and wailing off on the street, it's sudden, too sudden, and Dean feels strange. The seconds feel false, the clock isn't ticking, and Castiel isn't here. Why isn't he here? Dean can't remember. This place just isn't right. The walls of the house are shuddering, the metal and concrete foundation cracking down the seams. Jagged edges of metal jut out of the floor like outstretched fingers, and they throw themselves back against the wall, but when Sam looks out the window, the world dissolves into trees.

"I am," Gabriel says softly, but he's standing right there, smiling sadly, a signature lollipop grasped between his teeth. Sam remembers the first time he saw the angel, the last time, the times in-between… Gabriel can't be here. He feels dizzy. Why does he feel dizzy?

"What are you doing here?" Sam questions carefully.

"Trying to get home," Gabriel answers with a smile, removing the lollipop as he speaks and spinning it between fingers expertly. "But every time I try and go out the door on this side, heaven is out of reach. Something is holding me here. It's pissing me right off." He adds seriously.

"You're a ghost?" Dean says, like its comical and chilling all at once, and his hand closes on the gun in his pocket. Gabriel raises his eyebrows at the movement.

"An angel one, so watch it, Dean-o," he says. It's baffling. Sam kind of feels drunk and Gabriel gives him a small, barely there, sympathetic glance. "This place isn't really meant for humans. I suppose we're not actually on earth."

"So, how do we send you home?" Sam asks.

"I'm not sure I'll actually go home. I'll go on. Who knows what happens to us when we die?" Gabriel shrugs.

"What do we do?" Dean presses.

"Keen to get rid of me?" Gabriel asks teasingly, "I think you need to burn the house down. You know, this house is everything important to me. Light it up and I guess I'll be going."

"Are you sure?" Sam asks, "Cas is right outside, couldn't he do something?" He feels miserable. Because, yeah, Gabriel is a dick, but he also helped them out, and even if he went the wrong way about it, he tried to teach them some things, too.

"Sammy, don't you think I know who else is right outside?" Gabriel asks brokenly. "It's not time for me to see my brothers again. Not yet. I don't doubt one day I will, but for now…" He shrugs. "One day, we'll welcome each other with open arms, but that day isn't now."

"Still too scared to stand up to your family?" Dean lets out without thinking. The change in Gabriel is alarming.

"That worked out so well last time, didn't it?" He says dangerously. "My time with Lucifer has passed. Help or get out." His eyes flash hazardously.

"Right," Dean responds firmly, with a nod to Sam. He pulls out a lighter. "Ready?"

Gabriel nods. Dean lets the flames lick up the wall, and steps back into Sam, who steadies him without looking away from the angel. The fire is so many colours, so bright it hurts his eyes, but he keeps them on Gabriel, it's some sort of thank you, of forgiveness, or hope for his own brother, for theirs, for Lucifer. He keeps looking, and Gabriel's eyes trail the flames, not focusing on either human. Dean pulls at Sam's arm, a sharp tug, and he allows himself to glance at the weakening ceiling, the sagging walls, and finally, at the Archangel sword, melting in the tangle of carrot, ginger and cherry. Somehow, he doesn't even feel warm.

Sam watches as Gabriel extends his wings, the feathers glowing iridescent, almost kaleidoscopic and luminous, as he smiles at him. And then Gabriel waves, such a human gesture, almost childlike in nature, his fingers curling slowly toward his palm twice before he disappears.

"Sam," Dean tries, but from the place Gabriel had dissolved, white, pure, grace expands, like a scream. For what is really the second time, the house explodes in a storm of lightening and icy and chaos.

The sound is like nothing Dean has ever heard—it's lurid, colourful, and distraught. The air tastes like sugar, the air is alive, it's screaming and unstable and suddenly… It's tranquil. It's lukewarm. It's composed. The forest is gone, and so is Gabriel.

Sam is a mess of strewn limbs, chest rising in erratic puffs, and no matter how many times he blinks blood from his eyes, he can't seem to see. Hands are in his hair, holding and stroking, and Sam realises he's not hurt, not really… just… his eyes. He keeps them shut and breathes, "Lucifer?"

"I'm here, Sammy," he promises. "Open your eyes again for me?" He murmurs, and Sam blinks away the crimson to reveal a bruised, gratified man with deep coal, glossy wings, shielding him from the world, from the falling dust and ash. The first thing Sam sees though, are his eyes, wide and scared and hopeful and so very bright. He knows that with Lucifer he is sheltered and safe, but he also thinks he's really exposed, because every thought, every feeling is Lucifer's too to touch if he just reaches out. They're secluded in their own little bubble of soul and grace and togetherness.

"The house went bang?" Sam questions childishly because he's still a bit confused and there is a brightness echoing. He doesn't understand how brightness can echo, but it is, the light is so loud, and Lucifer's wings are so deafening.

Lucifer chuckles, "I wasn't going to let you go bang too, now was I?"

"Guardian angel," Sam murmurs drowsily, and Lucifer nods seriously. He will always look after Sam. He'll never let him go.

"I thought I'd lost you," He whispers, gathering Sam in his arms, "You silly human, so easily broken. What am I going to do with you?"

"Keep fixing me?" Sam says, leaning into Lucifer, sighing as smooth feathers slide around him, like a cloak, radiating warmth and healing. When Lucifer's wings brush against him, curling him into a cocoon, Sam suddenly feels better than he has in months, years even. Sam's hands move of their own accord, sinking into the silky black mass of feathers, and Lucifer makes a sound like a gulp or gasp; he digs his head wantonly into Sam's shoulder. Sam freezes, realising he probably should have asked first. Around them, the air is still bright and Sam is reminded of why.

"Gabriel?" Sam asks after a moment. Lucifer tightens his grip, a deep guilt forming inside him again. Slowly, he draws his wings away, into the realm where Sam cannot see them. Sam carefully doesn't show how much he wishes to bring them back, but Lucifer notices, and shows Sam this. It's not with words, or pictures, it's the bond searing through them that allows Lucifer to tell Sam that he'll let him truly see his wings enough time, and Sam inherits this information with questioning.

"Gone," he says simply, and Lucifer has to take a deep breath he doesn't really need, because it's his entire fault. He hurt Gabriel, it's his fault he ran in the first place, his fault he got trapped, his fault…

"Shush, stop it. You'll see him again," Sam tells him, and they curl, if possible, closer together, muddled in the fragments. "He still loves you. Family matters." The human whispers and the devil nods. He lets Sam keep him safe for once.

Dean is choking on Sam's name across the debris coated floor, feeling winded and cold, but safe. Castiel's body hovers over him, hands searching for wounds. He blocked the worst of them, the same as Lucifer did for Sam, a shield of wings and grace and soul.

"Sam is fine, Lucifer made sure of it," Castiel promises, his fingers wiping away Dean's bruises as if they were dirt. "He wouldn't allow harm to come to Sam," he says proudly, and Dean can't deny he's grateful and relieved, but he's surprised too, and confused, but in the end grateful wins out and he lets himself sink into the floor as Castiel just barely strokes his grubby hair.

"Thank you," Dean breathes, and Castiel nods, and this time, he's proud of Dean, because he knows what's coming next.

"And—Lucifer, thank you, for Sam," he says louder. It's a mess inside his head—he's trying, for Sammy, damn, he's trying—because trusting the devil is not something he ever imagined doing, owing the devil something, a life, being this thankful for someone, to something is not doing Dean any good right now. He's still trying to trust, to believe, that their tale has even a chance of being a happy one. Castiel makes a soothing noise at this thought, and Dean doesn't even complain about the lack of privacy. It's too gentle and caring to be invasive.

Lucifer looks up, clearly surprised, although he tries to seem otherwise. "You're welcome, Dean."

Dean nods at him tightly.

"Can we go now?" Sam says suddenly, gesturing behind him. About half a dozen cops, a fire engine, and the rest of the street are standing unsteadily in the garden, gaping. Dean grimaces, and gropes in his pokes for a badge of some kind. He's hoping for something better than Homeland Security.

"Anyone got a good explanation for this?" He asks humourlessly. Sam lets out an amused breath. There is never an explanation.

* * *

The journey back includes Castiel calling shot gun and looking extremely proud of himself, Sam and Lucifer ignoring seat belts in favour of curling up together on the back seat, using their coats as blankets, and Dean stopping to buy a bucket load of lime lollipops as some kind of tribute, an acknowledgement to Gabriel getting to go home.

Sam can see shattered pieces of navy sky in the clouds when he stretches his neck, and wonders if one of the pieces is Gabriel. He can see the back of Dean's head, the way he and Castiel lean towards each other, like gravity, like magnets, like the indigo and cerulean ocean currents—natural movement. He can see the flash of Dean's eyes in the mirror sometimes: sea green and bottle green and emerald and everything. He knows Castiel sees all the colours, even if he doesn't. He can also see the top of Lucifer's head, his heavy, warm hair tickles his chin, his neck, as the Morningstar listens to his heartbeat, checks his pulse, just to make sure, just to be safe—Sam is here, Sam is okay, I'm okay.

Sam can hear his own breathing, Lucifer's short puffs of breath that Sam isn't sure he needs. He can hear Dean's chuckles and a slow winding song that reminds Sam of drowning on the radio. He can hear Dean and Castiel discussing a hunt—vampires—and debating calling Bobby to see if he has any more information. He hears Dean ask Castiel to point him in the direction of a motel that doesn't have damp and smiles. They'll be driving for a while then. He can sense Lucifer smile in amusement at this.

Sam can hear the world through Lucifer. It's more than just traffic, its birds, and butterflies and bees, and Lucifer is sharing it all with him. Isn't it crazy that there's a world out there? Isn't it crazy how not everybody cares? Sam leans his head down, it's uncomfortable, but warm, and safe, and he closes his eyes. He feels where Lucifer is wrapped around him, keeping him safe, and Sam relaxes. It still feels weird to be relaxed by his presence, but also like he isn't sure how he survived without it. He sets his mind to calm, and lets his body rest and drift away, safe in the arms of his angel.


	7. Chapter 7

When they finally reach a motel, the sky is dark and docile, and the air is cool. Waking up to the sound of the door slamming, Sam has a moment of confusion, because he doesn't feel lost or scared, or anything really, other than safe. It's almost an untrusted feeling now days. He realises maybe he's making Lucifer feel safe, too. Maybe that's why he can doze off now when Sam does. They're safe together. Sam shuffles; he's not sure what he has to offer a broken angel who suddenly feels impossibly small in his arms. Sam makes some sort of noise and Lucifer turns to look at him, eyes bright and awake and hesitant. He waits. Sam remembers blood and screams and hell fire and—

"Come on," Sam says, and they crawl out of the car, stretching and yawning, hurrying after Dean and Castiel who are already at the doors. For a moment, Sam pauses, and then he grabs Lucifer's hand and starts walking as fast as possible. Lucifer lets himself be dragged with a smirk. He can feel Sam's emotions spinning, and for now, let's himself be dragged alone for the ride. It's interesting to see such human responses to everything. Sometimes, he thinks he sees why his father loved them so much. Or maybe he sees that his father couldn't deny love to little Sammy Winchester.

"Hurry up, sleeping beauty," Dean shouts gruffly, tugging Castiel into the reception area with him. It makes Lucifer smile a bit, because he knows Dean couldn't pull Castiel anywhere if he didn't want to go, he knows his little brother is more than happy to follow Dean like a lost puppy. He also knows he would hurt Dean in painful ways if Castiel stopped smiling.

The reception is bland and the girl behind the counter looks barely awake, but it's clean and doesn't smell like piss or sick, so the grey dotted walls aren't a bother. It's not even that dusty. Dean hopes it isn't mould thought, that wouldn't be good. Sam and Lucifer draw up behind Dean and Castiel as Dean is digging around for a credit card. Sam easily reads the name over his shoulder and has to suppress a grin at James Hetfield. It's better than Wedge Antilles, he supposes. He wonders why no one ever calls them out on these things—maybe there are worse fake names out there, maybe no one really cares, at least they're paying.

"Two double rooms?" The girl asks. She's blonde and her voice reminds Sam of Becky, although her name tag reads Susie. Her pink lipstick is smudged and she seems younger than Sam first thought. "One for each couple," she adds with a smile. Sam wonders if she's trying to show she's for equality or something, or if she actually thinks they're a couple. Do they look like a couple? Lucifer squeezes Sam's fingers gently, to reassure, and Sam has to agree with Susie—it looks pretty couple like. But each couple is probably too far. Dean and Castiel aren't exactly the holding hands type, Sam thinks.

Dean stutters over his words without really making a sound and Sam has to smile.

"Yes, please," Lucifer cuts in smoothly, raising his eyebrows at Dean quickly. Castiel looks carefully at Dean, and Dean tries to make his face fall blank. They take the keys without further comments, and before they take off in opposite directions, Dean shoots Lucifer a glare.

"Sam better be in one piece tomorrow," is all he says. Lucifer only smiles and makes a shooing motion, earning him another glare. Sam had expected Dean to protest more, but Dean's tired, and he doesn't want Lucifer left alone, and he doesn't want Castiel to leave and he really has no idea what the time is but he's so so tired.

"I don't require sleep, Dean," Castiel can be heard protesting as Dean grips his coat sleeve and pulls Castiel round the corner and out of sight. Sam snorts, and let's Lucifer lead him to their room, shaking his head slightly at how awkward Dean must feel. He wonders what they'll spend the night doing. He quickly ignores that thought by singing Hey Jude in his head. And besides, they'll likely just stare at each other for a few hours. He imagines the two of them playing cards—Dean teaching Castiel how to play poker, Dean explaining Black Jack, then giving up and teaching Castiel how to play something simple, like pairs.

Their door number is 64 and Lucifer opens it gracefully. Sam bets he could have done it without the keys just as gracefully (angel powers and all) but doesn't say anything. He's curious really, at how human Lucifer is acting. Doesn't he hate humans? It's a bit hard to place. But he's here and he's warm and he looks offended at Sam's trail of thought. He's here for Sam, for some sappy shit called love. The taking over the world? That's second to Sam. Everything is second to Sam. Sam sighs, gratified, happy, because he knows this. Deep down, he knows.

The room has blue gritty carpet and off white walls. An empty picture frame hangs between two surprisingly clean windows on the far wall. To the left, the bathroom door is ajar, and to the right, a double bed sits, soft and also blue. Together they stand in the doorway until Lucifer signs impatiently and huffs through, beckoning Sam and shutting the door quickly with an audible click. It hums in the air for a moment as Lucifer turns to look at Sam and leans back easily against the door.

Sam exhales, quick and untidy, then reaches out and drags Lucifer in closer by his belt loops. He's quiet for a moment, resting his forehead against Sam's shoulder. Sam has a passing thought about Lucifer's wings, about Lucifer's reaction to his touch, and is surprised when Lucifer squeezes in closer, humoured and pleased and somewhat enchanted by Sam and the human's idea of silvery glowing wings.

Sam can't help but to imagine the astronomy of him. Of a star as great as Lucifer. If he's hurt, would the universe pour itself from him like blood? And if he sang, would constellations dance to please him? Sam wonders if he formed any constellations, if he is part of one, a planet, a world, a sun in the sky. There is a galaxy between his ribs that Sam has yet to discover. His heart and grace and soul. He is a mystery, as a star has yet to be truly Sam's, and yet has always been Sam's. Sam's star, Sam's angel, and Sam's home. Lucifer hums contently.

"Wings?" Sam says, half question, half playful demand.

"Sam," Lucifer says softly, gently, as if to a child. "I'm not an angel, not really. Not anymore."

"What does that mean?" Sam asks. Their breath mixes steadily for a minute before Lucifer answers him.

"I didn't know I could still manifest my wings," He says thoughtfully, "after so long in hell… My wings are not beautiful. They were once envied by all in heaven—the light the filled the morning sky. But an angel is not meant to survive in a place such as the cage and they have become scarred and broken, Sam. Disfigured, covered in coal and earth and poison. They were once smoke and lightening, fire and ice, smooth and rough. A chaos of sensations displayed against the sky." Lucifer sighs with something like longing, and Sam tightens his hold briefly, waiting. "I didn't intend to manifest them, but I needed to protect you from Gabriel's grace, and that was the easiest option, it just happened. I don't like admitting I could not control them, but there we have it," Lucifer huffs, amused. The idea of a powerful archangel having to learn to tame his wings is comical in an odd way.

"But they were beautiful," Sam protests, "I saw them. I really don't see how they could be any more impressive." Chaos and lightening and ice… but they were so soft, so strong, almost like magic. Sam feels like he should be blushing for many reasons. Calling another man beautiful feels weird. Calling Lucifer beautiful feels even weirder, but he is, he really is. Sam sees a time where Lucifer's grace shone with the beauty of a thousand stars, where he outshone the moon, where he rivalled the sun, and the only word there can possibly be is beauty. Lucifer hums under Sam's praise, caught in the bizarre situation of letting his wings feel Sam's approval, his love, deciding if it is even possible to draw them on to this plain by will rather than because it is necessary.

"Maybe to you," Lucifer allows, "but to any other angels they would have laughed."

"Castiel didn't."

"Castiel has always been the kindest of us all," Lucifer shares, "Too much heart, too much understanding, designed to fit perfectly into our world of soldiers and power and yet so aware of the need to save. His opinion on my wings is something he will keep hidden—good or bad; he wouldn't want me to have to see what he sees. He will want me to grow to love them, to let them become an angel again. But I don't think I know how."

"Then we'll figure it out," Sam says earnestly.

"Oh, but Sam," Lucifer says kindly, sadly, openly, "to be an angel, we need heaven, we need to be able to re-charge and have a safety net, but the gates are forever locked to the likes of me. I'm not connected to the host anymore."

"But Gabriel—"

"Gabriel was not weighted down by thousands of years of hell. Gabriel could still tap into his grace, the 'angel radio,' if he wanted, without being discovered. I don't have the luxury of hiding. If I were to call on my true grace, my true power, it would light up the sky, and the whole of heaven would come running to stop me."

Sam worries his lip between his teeth. He unlinks his hands from Lucifer's belt, weaving them though Lucifer's fingers instead. He absently strokes his thumb across the back of Lucifer's hand while he thinks. Lucifer stays still and quiet.

"But… You're with us now. You're not hurting anybody," Sam says. "Isn't there a way to hide you from heaven?"

"I'm not sure anyone truly trusts me to keep that up, Sam. Not even you." Lucifer shakes his head slowly.

"I do," Sam protests, "I trust you." He's almost surprised to realise he believes the words he's saying. He's being honest.

Lucifer sighs against Sam's mouth, shifting impossibly closer. Sam's eyes flutter closed without his approval.

"We have been through a lot together, you and me. My vessel, my other half… Your faith in me is all I need."

"All you need for what?" Sam breathes.

"Open your eyes, Sammy."

The air seems to chatter together, scraping up against each molecule by turn, shimmering, shifting, and glowing. For a moment, everything hums. Then, as if it's been electrocuted, everything jumps, and wings blossom from Lucifer's shoulder blades.

"Oh," Sam says simply.

They're dark, like shadows, like they're not really there. Sam thinks he can see the dust in the air pass through them, like how it swirls in sunbeams. They're like coal and diamond, like hurricanes and calm waves. Each feather seems so delicate, so fragile, and yet Sam can see the sharp edges, like they're barbs, like they're waiting to turn iron, to create a protective circle, to fight. Sam hadn't really thought of wings as weapons before, but with Lucifer's falling gracefully around his own shoulders and Sam's, he can't imagine why he ever thought of them as anything but deadly. As the shadows shift, the light flickers, and each row of feathers ripples—soft to solid, solid to liquid, liquid to smoke. They can't seem to stay still.

Sam reaches out, unable to stop himself, and touches. It's still like silk, but it's impossibly cold, too. He imagines Lucifer flying, a cold star, burning impossible, burning in ice, and glittering as he shoots across the endless black of the sky. The lower he keeps his hand still, the less the cold bothers him, but with each brush of a new feather, the cold pierces into him again. It's strange—he remembers them feeling warm, as they wrapped round him, became his cocoon, and he feels Lucifer chuckle at this rather than sees it. Slowly, the temperature not just of Lucifer's wings, but in the whole room, begins to rise.

"I have some control," Lucifer explains weakly.

And Sam just nods, his hand moving again. The feathers are velvety, yielding, and part gently under the press of his fingertips. He can feel what he thinks is a joint, a bone, under rough skin. He looks up suddenly, realising he can't hear Lucifer breathing.

Lucifer is stone still, his eyes closes, his lips parted. Although he can't hear Lucifer breathing, Sam thinks he can feel his wings breathing, faint and muted, but proud, like music maybe, a couple of lingering notes. With his free hand, the one not wrapped in gripping feathers than are holding Sam as much as he is holding them, Sam traces a line tenderly from Lucifer's eyebrow, gently round the curve of his face, resting his thumb thoughtful on his bottom lip.

Lucifer's eyes snap open and Sam freezes at the impossible colour. It's kaleidoscopic, and something tells Sam it isn't just the range of hidden and unnoticed colours that is strange, it's that somehow he knows, this is the colour of the sky on Lucifer's last day in heaven.

"Thank you," Sam whispers, and between his fingers the brush of wings dissolves. The lights flicker once and then settle on a steady buzz of yellow.

Lucifer doesn't reply, instead he just kisses him.

It's sweet, gentle, and careful, like Sam is some precious thing that needs to be preserved and protected. Lucifer would be embarrassed, but this is Sam, and Sam is his, and Sam is smiling at him, like he knows, like he'd known all along or at the very least suspected, but was too afraid to believe.

And slowly, Sam laughs, because, come hell or high water, this is the rest of their lives now, and when the fuck did that happen? Lucifer laughs with him, and hidden, the link between them ties all their fingertips together, wraps and wraps, holds them tight.

It's going to be okay. They never need to let go.


End file.
